


A Boy and His Pirate

by rocket_diving



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Captain Pan, Dark, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, S&M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocket_diving/pseuds/rocket_diving
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploration of the relationship that existed between Hook and Pan (pre-Season 3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The air rushed against Hook, the pressure of it forcing his eyes closed and ripping breaths from his mouth and nose before he had a chance to inhale. Pan’s laughter was cruel and cutting, somehow penetrating the sound of the windstorm as the two of them spiraled upward — it was likely magic that the boy used for that little touch, just as it was magic that allowed him to fly with Hook as though the added weight was inconsequential.

They came to a sudden halt and Hook gasped reflexively, his heart pounding erratically as he realized just how high Peter had taken them. “Is this truly necessary?” he asked, once he had breath enough to speak. The Jolly Roger was a spec upon the vast sea that sprawled beneath them, and looking outward Hook could see almost the entire expanse of the Neverland island.

“Now, now Captain,” Pan tutted with mock innocence, leaning over Hooks’ shoulder so that his mouth hovered next to the pirate’s ear, his narrow chest pressed against the other’s broader back, “I just wanted your attention… Do I have it?”

Hook tensed against the warm whisper of Peter’s words, though he knew better than to struggle. If Pan were to drop him from this height, there was little chance of survival. “Bloody hell, there are other ways,” he ground out, causing the boy to laugh once more.

“The only way that matters in Neverland, is _my way_ ,” Pan corrected cheerfully; though he and his crew had only arrived in Neverland a fortnight ago, Hook was versed enough in the subtlety of threats to understand an unspoken one when he heard it.

"Of course, my apologies.” He forced himself to smile though his hand remained clenched in fist. He pointedly looked straight ahead instead of downward at the empty air beneath his feet. “To what do I owe the honor of your audience?”

“I thought it was high time you and I had a private little chat,” Pan explained, as though that couldn’t have been accomplished on solid ground. “Neverland was not intended to be a refuge for grown-ups. In fact, that’s one of the only underlying rules of this world. Did you know that?”

Hook was slow to answer, as he hadn’t yet deduced the point Pan was leading him to. “No,” he finally intoned lowly, giving an abrupt start when he felt Pan’s cheek settle against his unshaven one, the boy’s smooth skin a lingering rasp against his stubble.

Though his chest tightened warily as Peter settled more closely against him, Hook found his attention turned elsewhere as there was a sudden gust of cold wind and an eerie keen of air, and dark shapes weaved between the clouds around them.

“So, the only way you, and your crew, get to stay in Neverland - _unharmed_ \- is if I decide to let you,” Peter Pan hissed, all pretense of amicability abandoned though Hook would have sworn he felt the boy **smiling** against him as the menacing shadows continued to circle them at a distance. “Should I?”

Hook stared at shadows, with the twisted forms and glowing voids for eyes, and down at the Jolly Roger, no bigger than a fisherman’s buoy at this height; it wasn’t a difficult choice to make, especially when his vengeance remained unfulfilled. He thought little about the consequences or of what he might be giving up in exchange, when he replied, “Aye, that you should.”

It therefore took him by even greater surprise when one of Peter’s hands slipped within the opening of his leather overcoat, deceptively thin fingers tracing lines down his abdomen before they curled around the buckle of his belt.

Instinctively, Hook bucked against the unexpected touch, only remembering his precarious position when they dropped in altitude several meters and his stomach lurched.

“ _Careful_ ,” Pan chided, his teeth cutting at the shell of Hooks ear, his tongue trailing behind, “You don’t want me to _drop_ _you_ , now do you?”

Hook wasn’t sure if he shuddered with loathing or anticipation as Peter loosened his belt and slid a hand within his leather trousers, and he did not answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Hook knows he’s no better than a whore.

He’s tarted up with dark stubble that hasn’t grown a lick in the past decade, a mouth stained red from split-lip, bloodied kisses, his eyes rimmed in smudged kohl but as flat as a windless sea, the glass eyes of a lifeless plaything. Scars litter his tanned skin, grotesque and twisted over the stump of his left wrist, and dark hair dusts his chest, arms, legs, tapering off to a fine fuzz over the curves of his bruised arse.

He’s shaking and glistening with sweat and his own come by the time Pan’s had his fill for the evening, can barely hold himself up when Peter finally pulls out and wet heat follows in a slow trickle.

The boy - **demon** , something in him remembers to warn - seems wholly unaffected as he drags on his boots and laces up his trousers. In fact, the boy’s whistling.

“Rum,” Hook manages to growl out, panting and weak - his ribs ache, might even be broken this time. He needs to bathe, needs to scour the _spit_ , the _scent_ , the _taste_ of Pan from his skin. But pride has long since been cast aside. He expects to be paid first. “Three casks of rum, ten of fresh water, and dried rations for me crew, as was agreed.”

Peter Pan arches a brow at the Captain’s lack of humility, and he laughs, the sound carefree and mocking and twisting Hook’s insides with long standing, festering hatred. Hook says nothing however, and just stares at the boy until his merriment has died out.

“The Lost Boys will deliver payment soon enough, Captain. Never fear, I always keep my word,” Pan states with a grin.

Abruptly, he’s gone, and Hook is left weary and filthy upon sullied sheets.

It is in the span of these moments that he sometimes wonders if his revenge is worth this shame.


	3. Chapter 3

Hook’s back is red and raw and bleeding where leather has struck quick enough to split skin. Pan draws back the strap and brings it down again on Hook’s shoulders, then diagonal across his spine, and a third mirroring adjacent, his goading laughter punctuating each strike. This isn’t punishment for an infraction, this is just the game Peter wishes to play this evening.

But the truth of it is that Hook **needs** this more than Pan, needs this vicious, visceral carnality to tether him to the present.

Though his body trembles from exhaustion and pain, Hook continues to kneel. He closes his eyes against the damp fringe of his hair and grimaces when the lashes decorating his back burn from the salt of his sweat.

“Look at you,” Pan murmurs with false admiration as he appears beside him. He’s all sweetness now that he’s put the leather strap down, with wide eyes and a boyish grin as he leans close enough to drag his tongue against Hook’s shoulder. He makes a show of swallowing the drops of fluid he’s accumulated. “Enjoying yourself?”

Hook tilts his head to acknowledge Peter, but he doesn’t reply - it’s impossible to speak around the knot of the leather ball-gag.

Pan’s eyes are alight, cruel and mischievous, the same as when he runs a pirate’s body through with a short blade. It’s with a purposeful intent that he slinks closer, pale and smooth, the embodiment of ethereal, eternal youth - a **demon** \- and Hook **groans** when the boy straddles his thigh, naked and cool against his sore muscles.

“Well, I’d say so; look how _eager_ you’ve stayed for me, Captain.”

Pan’s hand curls tightly around Hook’s aching cock, gripping him so that the throbbing is nearly torturous. He elicits throaty, low sounds from Hook each time he claws at his wounded back or swirls his thumb, slick with leaking precome, painstakingly slow and delicate against his cock’s swollen head.

Hook doesn’t notice that the noises Pan evokes from him are all starting to sound the same.

Pan’s touch becomes more deliberate however, and Hook is brought to the brink again and again without relief. By the time Pan removes the gag, Hook’s **begging** the boy to make him come (Hook swore he wouldn’t, but he’s only human).

Pan rings Hook’s throat with finger-print bruises and tears at Hook’s hair while he savages the other’s mouth with his own; Hook tastes blood, and he’s not sure if it’s his or Pan’s. He plans his vengeance as Peter fucks him, pierces Rumplestiltskin’s chest in time with the clap of flesh against flesh, drenches the canvas of his mind’s eye a brilliant scarlet as he shudders and groans with his release.

It’s only after Pan finishes and leaves, and Hook is alone, that he’s plagued with shame, regret, and guilt as the afterimage of Milah all but haunts him.

When morning comes, Hook takes to the rum and thoughts of Milah drift only to the heart-breaking what-might-have-been’s, until the casks have run dry.

Once the rum is gone, Peter Pan returns.


End file.
